


Behind the veil (our final farewell)

by yunliu



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character Death, Dimension Travel, Gen, M/M, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunliu/pseuds/yunliu
Summary: In a world where soulmate couplings are revered, Felix deals with the love he harbours for his best friend.(5 times Felix came to Chan, and the 1 time Chan came to Felix.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Behind the veil (our final farewell)

1.

I am bundled up in his sheets when he comes in. We have known each other long enough for me to not be embarrassed with the wetness on my cheeks. I get up briefly to greet him. 

Concern briefly flashes across his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, his book in my lap, pages crumpling from my tears. “I didn’t mean to muck up your book. It was just so…” 

“Yeah, I get it,” he says. The mattress sags under his weight. His bed is wide, wide enough for the both of us, so I don’t need to scoot over when he joins me. He takes the book from me, still open to the page which made me cry. 

_And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place._

I had wanted to continue reading, to finish _the Order of the Phoenix_ this afternoon, closer to the end of the series, but my weepiness had caught up with me. 

“Olivia said I was too late in starting to read it, so there was no point in it, really. According to her, it’s old news. It’s not old news to my friends in Dance, though.”

“I didn’t know you had friends aside from me,” Chan says, cracking a mild smile, “if it makes you feel better, I only watched the Last Airbender last week.”

I shrug, staring at the words that had made my head swim. He is joking, sure, but it hits home. “I didn’t want to get left out of their conversation, so I started reading it last week.”

“Last week?” he asks, shocked. “I’m not trying to undermine you, you never read, that’s all, you can barely sit through a movie before fidgeting.”

“I can do something if I want to. Turns out I’m a surprisingly fast reader?”

Then I think about Sirius Black tumbling through the veil into the waiting arms of death, Harry’s future along with him, and a few more tears tumble down. 

Chan pulls my head into his lap, holding me close, brushing my hair with his fingers, saying, "Shh, shh." 

He smells like sweat and pesticide, my pillow his too muscly thighs, nothing like the softness of a woman's, but I sleep deeply anyway, both saddened and mortified. 

I’m really getting too old for this. 

===

2\. 

I had gone over to his house after school ended. We’re sitting in his living room, with his parents in the kitchen, having another run of a show he likes. 

"Chan," I say out of the blue, "do you believe in true love?" 

I had been thinking for a long time. The last afternoon, we had a substitute teacher take over for my math class, and he turned out to be my classmate's soulmate. 

It makes no sense. It was completely inappropriate. But having a soulmate was seen as a blessing, so everyone thought it was wonderful. 

There was no such thing as having your soulmate turn out to be someone you knew. 

Once you met your soulmate, you _knew_. 

I didn't want a soulmate. 

"Love is everywhere. It's not just between couples. It's between friends and family." 

Chan's mum says that he would age ten years whenever he was with me me, but I didn't understand until now. 

"You don't make sense," I say. "You're just a kid yourself, what do you know?" 

"I read books." He flicks my nose. "You don't." 

I stare at his hand. Chan is left-handed. 

Having a soulmate is like being left-handed. The odds are lower, but a good portion of the population had one. I wonder if I would have a soulmate, to make up for the fact that I am right-handed?

The entire concept is ridiculous. How would the universe know who was the best for you? 

_I_ would know who is best for me. 

And my heart has decided it is Chan. 

===

3\. 

Three years isn't much of an age gap. 

But I could feel the gap yawn at me sometimes. Like now. 

Chan is grown. He's not tall, but he fills out his clothes. He swims with the big kids, and I am not a big kid. 

This should be simple. I'm the annoying pest, the little brother, the tag-along. I should have accepted it a long time ago, but I sulk about it anyway. 

My front door has a gate. When I first moved in, I would cling onto it as I talked to Chan. None of my sisters was interested in talking to a boy beside me, and I was their brother. 

I was always lying on the cusp. He would be lying on the field instead, hair splayed out across the grass, a free spirit. He could be anywhere, but he chose to be here. 

Whenever I see him swim, I never understand. He always looks so full of himself, but never in a bad way. He knows where every limb ought to go as he races ahead in the water like he's flying, suspended in air. All his teammates on the swim team look to him, not just for his speed, rather, for his confidence. 

Then there’s little ol’ me. Three years his junior, still muddling about in kid magazines and trekking through sex ed. There isn’t a maturity gap that I can feel, but sometimes I feel I might come off as a child to him. 

He finishes another lap, fishing himself out of the pool and towards the stands where I'm sitting. I get up too, meeting him first. 

There's never a time when I remember him pale. He's in the sun constantly, with a dusky tan that never seems to go away. His teeth chatter, and he gives me a sheepish smile. I roll my eyes, only pretending to be annoyed when I hand him his towel. 

"Coach let me leave early," he says. "He said the one who finishes first gets to go home the earliest." 

I pick up his swimming bag and sling it over my shoulder, leading the way to the changing room. "Isn't really fair, is it? You're easily the quickest. I think your coach likes you too much." 

Everyone likes Chan. I am not an exception. 

He's a friend to everyone. I am one of those friends. I could picture any of the girls or boys in his class, helping him carry his bag in my place, coming over to his place. 

Am I any different to the people who are friends with him? I am one of many, while to me, he is one of few. 

The swimming complex is one bus stop away from our neighbourhood. As we take the bus, I see a girl smile at Chan, and he smiles back. A flush dusts the tips of her ears, and she laughs, twirling with the stray strands of her hair as he turns away to look at me. 

I can tell when someone likes Chan. I’m used to it. He isn’t exactly the epitome of beauty, but so many people like him anyway. It’s his charm, I think. His personality is his charm. I have long come to term with my green-eyed monster. I don’t bat an eye once I see it. 

Some people wear their heart on their sleeve. It’s easy to tell they like him. I can’t tell if I envy them. Maybe it would be easier if what I feel is written over every inch of my skin, rather than telling Chan in words. 

Meanwhile, I wonder if I am as transparent as they are; if anyone else can see through me, that I like him. Thinking about it makes my heart flutter in panic a little. I might implode. 

I tell him he should look to the side. Notice the girl staring at him, say a wry joke about it, anything, but he doesn’t turn to see. 

He says no, and I wonder why he won’t. It’s such an innocent request, and my tone doesn’t give me away. 

I don’t notice he’s preoccupied looking at me. 

===

4\. 

I’m with my family when I meet her. 

We’re in the mall, in the food court, relishing the air conditioner. It’s unbearably hot outside. Mum hands me a bill, telling me to go get my own food. 

As I run to join the longest queue, I bump into a petite girl. I’m too concerned, wanting to satisfy my own stomach, that I’m tempted to just leave her there, on the floor. 

But I remember what Mum has drilled into me, to be a gentleman. Women have it bad because of the patriarchy, the least I can do is to treat women better, Olivia says. I can hear her voice resonate in my head, so I sigh, swooping down and offering a hand to her. 

She lifts her head, and our eyes meet. There’s a fullness that clicks which I don’t comprehend right away. Suddenly, as compared to a moment before, it feels almost inadequate, half-baked and halfway.

Somehow, I know I’ve found my soulmate. 

I don’t help her to her feet. I retract like a frightened animal, backing away. Her eyes widen in realisation, so I run. 

It takes me a few minutes to pull myself together. I lose myself in the swarm of people, buying a dish and joining my family. 

When Olivia catches sight of me, she lifts an eyebrow. “I thought you would get curry udon?”

“I wanted to try something new,” I say. 

I shove a forkful of chicken and force it into my mouth. It’s revoltingly soggy and I’m certain it’s overcooked. I wrinkle my nose, mustering a smile at my unconvinced sister. “See? Looks like my risk has paid off.”

Throughout the meal, I let the rest of my family talk. They don’t call upon me, so I have time to stew. I’ve never thought about meeting my soulmate. It had seemed like such an estranged commitment. 

Then I begin to boil. 

Soulmates are two halves making a whole? 

It’s a laughable joke, really, to the people who never have soulmates. It sounds condescending, almost. A huge cosmic joke. I tremble with the injustice of it all; I've never been one for righteous fury. Yet I think of Chan, who's never met his soulmate, being denied something simply because of chance. 

As we leave the mall, I can hear a girl shrieking. 

"Dad, there he is! That's my soulmate!" 

The rest of my family goggle at her as I try to march away. A hard grip snags my arm, and I snarl at my mother.

"What's the matter with you?" Mum asks. "At least have the courtesy to say hello to her!" 

Mum calls it courtesy. But I know what they truly want. 

They think having a soulmate means I'm shackled down now, like I have a partner. I have already chosen my soulmate, and I don't need another. 

The girl's parents talk to Mum and Dad. I don't say a word, staying to the side. 

She keeps trying to talk to me. Why won't she shut up? 

Everything else is a blur: she asks me out on a date, I tell her it'll be pedophilia. She insists that a fifteen-year-old and a thirteen-year-old dating isn't a big deal, I tell her that it is. Obviously, I'm stalling for infinite time, so I'll never see her face again, but she doesn't know that. She's too immature to see. 

Our parents exchange contacts and Mum asks me if I want to arrange some time to spend with her.

Of course, I tell her no. But then she tells me that I'm lucky because our neighbour next door didn't meet her soulmate until she was sixty-four. 

Her name is Jeia. 

I don't call her by any other name. Not _my soulmate_ , or the woman of my destiny, nothing like that. It sounds like fraud, to call her a name I didn't bestow. 

What would Chan think? I hadn't even had the chance to tell him what I feel, and with Jeia added to the mix, he would never accept any confession from me. It would be like cheating on Jeia, although I do not love her the way I love him. 

Because meeting your soulmate is a blessing. 

Because in the romance books, the only true person for you is your soulmate, everyone else will fall short, prior romances pale in comparison. 

There cannot be any other way.

So when Mum tells me Jeia wants to visit, I tell her no, and flee, retreating to Chan's house. 

The beauty in choosing someone to love with your whole heart is in the freedom of choice.

I chose Chan, and I… 

Oh, who am I kidding? Who am I fooling? It's certainly not me, not anymore. 

But I run anyway because I want the one my heart has chosen to comfort me and hold me close, tell me everything will be alright when it never will be. 

It's like praying for exams after you've done it, I think. Wanting something immovable to change for the better, although you know it is an impossible wish. 

"Felix?" 

Chan is standing in the hallway, baffled, taking in my dishevelled appearance. 

I don't say a word. I stride up to him, and simply lay my head on his shoulder, letting out a gusty sigh of air. 

I ought to tell him now. Tell him that I like him. That I want to kiss him, something along those lines before he finds out about Jeia and pushes me away for good. 

Then I imagine him gently pushing me away, apologising for not returning my feelings, and I can hear some part of me tear away and fall to the floor, shattering within the heavy silence—

===

5\. 

I will forever remember him as bright and laughing. 

It is 1pm when I get a call from my parents. My teacher rushes in, telling me I have to go to the leave at once without any details. 

When I reach the hospital, Mum brings me into the Intensive Care Unit. I am almost afraid of what I'd see. Is it a member of our family? Dad? One of my sisters? Who? 

It is Chan.

Tall and strong Chan, reliable and indefatigable, looking small and frail among the pillows of a hospital bed. I choke on the immediate sob that escapes my mouth. 

“Chris?” I whisper. He does not respond. Tubes are hooked up to his nose, his mouth, I can barely see his face, he is strangely still. 

His family are clustered to the side. With my pleading eyes, I turn to them for answers. 

“How did he end up this way? What happened? Please…” 

They can’t look me in the eye. I’ve never properly spoken to his siblings, as they are too little, too young to understand. His mother is crying, his father looks stricken, his siblings are disbelieving, I wonder which expression is mirrored on my face…. 

Mum ushers me out of the room. “It was a car accident,” she tells me, “they don’t expect him to make it through the night. He was on a bike, things happened quickly.” 

I can scarcely speak. Death is a foreign concept to me, far away. And yet it looms over him, someone who deserves a bright future, years to live out a fulfilling life, all taken away because of some stupid driver. I imagine him stumbling across the hood of a car like a rag doll and my eyes sting. 

None of his family dares to be by his side. 

I dare. 

I’ve wondered how his hand felt like before, in languid daydreams. I wanted to, but never like this. I press our nose to where our hands link, away from the overtly clean smell of the room and to breathe in his own. 

There’s the fragrance of his peppery deodorant. He must have been coming back from practice. He’s not supposed to be like this, barely alive, chest barely rising and falling. 

The line on the heart monitor threatens to turn stagnant. 

“Did you know I like you? I’m sorry if I wasn’t very obvious,” I whisper, away from the rest of the people in the room, “I really do. Please. Make it through the night. I need a response. Yes or no. I’ll like you either way.”

I can feel my head start to flag. I end up falling asleep, and I dream about him saying, “I like you too.” 

When I wake up next, it’s so they can bring me away from the bed; for the surgeons to better tend to him. It’s a fruitless effort. I still let them do what they want. 

I don’t see him again. 

===

+1. 

_He’s in the mirror, and you have to get him out._

That’s all I am told when I slip into the attic. 

It’s so eerily similar to the stories they’ve read in the Harry Potter books. Maybe magic _is_ real, but not exactly like how it is told. 

Has the red string on my finger been magic all along? I lift up my hand so I can see. Still there. 

I don’t need to open the door. I simply pass through it, floating. And I pass through the mirror, too. It’s like I’ve just stepped through the front door of my house because I’m standing in my neighbourhood again on the pavement. 

There’s a light tinge to everything. It seems like a brighter version of itself, somehow. _This reflects his deepest desires._ What would he desire, most of all? I can’t help being curious. 

I saunter down, not knowing what to expect. Maybe I should look around first. So I head down to his house, from behind, peering through the window. 

Felix _is_ there! I wonder if his appearance has changed, if he wishes to be more handsome, or the like… hm, something like that is far too trivial for him. I want to press my ear to the door, but I want to watch more.

He’s standing over the couch. Someone is sitting there, under the chill of his shadow. Clearly, he doesn’t belong in this world, with his deep eye circles and grey hue. 

“I must be dreaming,” he says. 

“What do you mean, silly?” 

_What?_ It’s the sound of my own voice, talking to him. This makes no sense. I’m here. This must be a trap, to ensnare him. I fix my gaze upon him, and I see his eyes trembling. 

Some part of my heart always breaks whenever I see him cry. 

I check my red string again, and I see it leading to him still. It doesn’t lead to his finger, it ties around his wrist. 

Almost like I’m the one who’s going to lead him out. 

Huh.

“Come with me,” other-me says, brushing away his tears with my thumbs, “I want to make you feel better.” 

I don’t manage to get away far enough before the two of them launch out of the back door. I hide behind the bushes. 

A picnic blanket and a picnic basket. They sit down, away from me, and I am startled to see other-me lean forward to grab his hand. 

Is _this_ his deepest desire?

“Is this a date?” Felix asks quietly. 

“If you want it to be,” other-me whispers. 

My face feels hot. I had figured out that he might have liked me when he was younger, but I thought it would fade away, like a childhood crush. 

He drops his head onto other-me’s shoulder. “This _must_ be a dream. You’re dead.”

It’s empty. I can’t hear anything. I’m… what the hell? This isn’t… it can’t be… 

The more he’ll stay here, the more he won’t want to leave.

But he seems so unhappy. He could stay here for a little while if he truly needs it. If I’m really… dead. 

I end up sleeping in the garden. 

===

When I wake up, I’m still lying in the field. 

We had sandwiches and apple juice. And then we slept, I suppose. I can’t really remember. I reach out beside me, but Chan isn’t there anymore. Maybe he’s at the swimming complex. 

Sundown warms the edges of the grass. I wheel my bicycle out on the road, starting to cycle. The sky is a purple-yellow, like a scene out of a vaporwave graphic. Even this world smells different, the floral scent of a polish I recognise from chores. 

I didn’t think it would look so different. But it isn’t really a big deal, because _Chan_ is here. 

When he died, I cried plenty. Even after his death, the weeks after it, I would pause over whatever reminded me of him, and I would shed a few tears. It was pathetic. I was okay with sinking in it because I was upset. 

Whenever I had thought of Chan… dying, I never thought of him in the sense that he passed away. 

I had imagined him in the place of Sirius, falling through a veil in graceful slow-motion, not bleeding out to join a world away from mine. 

But I didn’t cry because of the what-ifs, like Sirius. He was a mere character. 

I cried simply because Chan was gone, and I was mourning the dismal end of someone who didn't deserve it. Someone I loved had left. It was a wound that would scar, a slash upon my heart. 

I thought I might be feeling better. Mum had told me there’s this process I was going through, the five stages of grief, so I’d think I was in the last stages. Right now, though… it’s like everything’s come back. 

Maybe I’m just in a coma, going through all this in my head. It feels more like a dream if anything.

I can see Chan’s bicycle outside the swimming complex, so I get off my own bike and go in. 

There’s the sound of water sloshing, the same sloshing I hear whenever he’s in the pool. 

“Felix.” His eyes are wide. 

“Why aren’t you in your swimsuit? Aren’t you cold?” I jog over to the side of the pool, knees hugged to my chest. 

It’s not the same Chan. He’s in a white shirt, that by all means, should be sticking to his body, but it’s magically dry. And he’s in his favourite jeans, the ones he wears on Tuesdays because he says the teacher doing dress code checks that day is more relaxed. 

Then, I realise. 

He’s wearing the same clothes the day of the accident. 

I tear my eyes away. This is too much. I had always muttered about wanting to spend more time with him, but I don’t know what to say now. 

Inexplicably, I know this is the real Chan. The real one. 

“Felix,” he says, lifting himself out of the pool, “I came for you.” 

“I don’t want to go,” I mumble. “You’re here.” 

“Do you want me around that much? Apparently, I’m your deepest desire,” Chan croaks, and my eyes turn sore. I clench my fists. Something in my chest turns to a boiling point. “This world isn’t real!”

“I know, genius,” I snap, turning my back to him. “Where’s the other you?”

Funny. I should be crying with happiness right now. The opportunity to tell him how I feel with listening ears has presented itself to me with open arms, but it seems so insignificant at this moment. 

“I know why I’m here, ‘Lix,” he says. “I’m here to rescue you.” 

I pull up my pant sleeves and dip half my legs into the water. The words finally form after a beat of silence. I take off my shirt and join him in the pool. It’s cold. 

Our gazes meet, and I suppress a shiver. He hasn’t aged a day. 

“There’s nothing to rescue me from. I’m perfectly happy here. I don’t want to go.” I mean it. “There’s no school here. Time doesn’t appear to pass. The sky is always the same colour.” 

I draw my arms close to my chest. All of those sound like feeble excuses— even to my own ears. 

Chan’s reflection glitters in the otherworldly water. “I think I might know why you want to stay. But I need to know for sure. _Let me hear you say it_.”

I lean in. He feels warm, yet cold, somehow. I gently run my fingers across his chin, heart beating incessantly; my fingertips sink past his translucent skin. 

“I’m here because you’re here. Because I liked you. Maybe I even loved you. I don’t know. It would have been pointless anyway. You’re not my soulmate!” 

He catches my hand before I can slip it away. 

“Felix. I haven’t been completely honest with you… hey. Look!”

A red string is tied around his finger. My gaze follows the strung thread. The end is… linked to my wrist?

“What? What is this?”

“I’ve always been able to see it. It’s the red string of fate. You see it too, don’t you?”

I can’t think. His words sound slowed like they’re in reverb. 

“They say it’s for people destined to meet. But I’ve had it for so long, I know it also means something else,” he says, taking my hand in his, “ I think I’m here to fulfil my destiny.” 

He gives me a watery smile. “I don’t have a string linking myself to anyone else. In a sense, you’re my soulmate, Felix.”

“Jeia is my soulmate. What are you talking about?” 

It hurts to say it aloud, but it’s the truth. I can’t think of any other possible explanation for it. 

He pulls me out of the pool, bends down, and taps on the surface of the water. It sloughs away into startling crystal silver, so clear I can see our reflections without a single distortion. Then it’s like a two-way mirror— I’m staring into his attic, my body slumped across the dusty wooden floor, unmoving. 

The water shudders and the image falls apart with a splash. 

“What happened to me? Am I dead?” I ask. I try to copy what Chan had just done, yet it doesn’t work. 

An eerie calm washes over me. This way, I could be with him, but… this isn’t a bittersweet love story. To imagine leaving it all behind hurt, of course. Mum would be devastated. I couldn’t just go. 

As if he can read my mind, he echoes the answers to my thoughts.“You’re in this… mirror world. It shows your deepest desires,” he says. “You need to go back to the real world. That’s why they brought me back, I think.” 

“Chris.” I straighten up to face him. “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, we could have been together. I don’t know what’s about you that makes me so different. You make me want to be a better version of myself. It wouldn’t have mattered. Our families would have been forced to accept us, in the end.” 

I don’t finish my sentence. 

_But now, you’re dead._

Something has changed. I sit back down, gently brush my palms against the water, and it becomes a mirror again. 

Chan reaches a hand out to me. I accept it. He fixes a crooked smile on his face, but it’s a watery one. 

I don’t want to leave him here, on the other side. There’s still so much to say. 

“You could only truly leave this place if you wanted to go.”

Belatedly, I realise he isn’t dying in a hospital bed anymore, and I have all the time in the world to say whatever I want.

“I thought I was a leech to you. Whenever we talked, it felt like you were doing it out of obligation, because I approached you first. I was always the one who arranged the meet-ups. It doesn’t help how popular you were, you know? I wish our friendship felt less one-sided.”

It feels odd, to speak in the past tense. 

“I’m sorry I was never proactive. You always made me feel wanted. Like I belonged. I didn’t spare a thought whether you would feel the same,” he admits. “I wish I told you I’d truly loved you. With my entire heart, as a friend, but also a little like a lover.” 

For what feels like the first time, he pulls me into a hug. There are no butterflies in my stomach, only a quiet, yawning grief, that gets swallowed up by this stilled acceptance. 

As we pull apart, he kisses me gently. It’s like a touch of an angel’s wings, rather than his lips on mine. 

“Goodbye, Felix.”

I see the thread linking us straining as I skim across the water. It’s fraying, and when it snaps, I fall through the water like a dead weight. 

Blearily, I open my eyes. The room spins in slow circles around me as I get up, rubbing at my temples. 

Thin stripes of lazy afternoon sun peer into the attic, and I stick my hand out. The red string is still tied around my wrist, the other end broken. I watch it shrivel up and disappear in the sunlight.

This time, I know he is truly gone, and somehow… I’m more alright with my loss than I ever have been. 

_I was always lying on the cusp. He would be lying on the field instead, hair splayed out across the grass, a free spirit. He could be anywhere, but he chose to be here... with me._

**Author's Note:**

> I basically packed everything I really wanted to write into one fic, which is:  
> 1\. Dimension Travel  
> 2\. Soulmate Trope Inversion  
> 3\. 1st person perspective  
> 4\. CHANLIX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I really wanted to do a soulmate trope inversion thing with drarry but I need to do research for ptsd lmfao. In time, my dear turtle-ducks... in time... 
> 
> [ twitter](https://twitter.com/okaeythen?s=09)  
> [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/okaeyy)


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